


Even the Simplest of Questions can Have the Most Complicated of Answers

by nightsisterkaris



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Drinking, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 19:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19116145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightsisterkaris/pseuds/nightsisterkaris
Summary: They really shouldn't just leave bottles of Scotch out in the open. To a infuriated Melinda May, that made it free. And Melinda took advantage of it.Fine. She stole the bottle. Melinda shouldn't have, but she did.Actually, she needed that bottle right now. So sue her.





	Even the Simplest of Questions can Have the Most Complicated of Answers

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the entire episode of "Window of Opportunity" (6X02). I was loving all the May screen time in that episode. I was just hoping that we would get to see a bit of her grieving process and her coping mechanism (She has to have at least one).
> 
> Note: This will be very discombobulated and very choppy. I did that on purpose to try to express just how Melinda might be handling the whole "let's-go-get-this-Sarge-guy-wait-holy-crap-he-looks-like-Coulson" revelation, and how her emotions might (aka will) be affecting her decision making.
> 
> Do know that she is buzzed in this fic, and that's why it's so off-character. Enjoy!
> 
> -nightsisterkaris

    They  _really_  shouldn't just leave bottles of Scotch out in the open. To a infuriated Melinda May, that made it free. And Melinda took advantage of it.

    Fine. She stole the bottle. Melinda shouldn't have, but she did.

    Actually, she  _needed_  that bottle right now. So sue her.

    Pouring herself another glass, Melinda sat on her bunk. There was a duffle bag on the floor that hadn't been touched or moved in just about a year. There were a few seashell picture frames holding captured memories and moments. There was a closet with her shirts - all black again - and black Jeans. Her new favorite blue leather jacket was thrown over a chair. Her sheets were from the cabin; the pillow too.

    Melinda fingered the dark red shirt she wore. It was loose on her, and so was mostly hidden under jackets. Nobody needed to know that she still wore Phil's clothes.

    Taking a large swig of the mind-numbing drink, Melinda processed the weirdness of the day.  _Something_ with Phil's face was out there, commiting crimes and killing people without a thought. Either  _something_  had stolen the body of her love, Or  _something_  was impersonating him.

    Now she was taking her own advice to Dr. Benson.

    Melinda had a drinking problem now. No denying it. Most days she was buzzed, trying to erase the guilt. Some were saying she was chatty now.  _Liars_. It's the alcohol.

    And she tried not to think about the DNA. . . This  _thing_  had Coulson's DNA, enhanced, sure, but it was still his genes.

    That erased so many more, erm,  _pleasant_  theories. It wasn't an LMD. It wasn't an Alien. It was a man. And he  _wasn't_  Phil.

    Suddenly a knock came to her locked door. Melinda ignored it. Whoever it was could leave. Also whoever it was seemed _incredibly stupid_  because they knocked again.  "Melinda?" 

    May frowned. Whoever it was had a good brain but bad planning skills. Whoever it was . . . was Dr. Benson.

    Melinda relentlessly got up and with a frustrated sigh, undid the lock. She cracked the door. "Ah, Melinda." Benson smiled, "I have, well, I wish to ask you some questions concerning the man with the former director's face."

   Melinda slammed the door in the scientist's face.  

  "I talked with director Mackenzie, But he did not answer my questions. I was hoping a friend would." Benson said through the door. He waited. "I wanted to know why this doppelganger of Agent Coulson bothered you so much."

    Melinda rolled her eyes. Scientists. Did they ever shut up?

    "Melinda? Please? What's wrong? I just wanted to know . . . who was Agent Coulson to you?"

    _Her Best friend. Her most loyal college. Her savior. Her love. Her soulmate. Phillip J. Coulson was Melinda Qiaolian May's soulmate and she had realized it to late._

    That's what was wrong.

    And so incredibly right a the same time. (The soulmate part, that is)

    Melinda downed the rest of her glass, and opened the door. "What do you want to know. Be specific. I don't have all day."

    Benson raised an eyebrow at the whiskey glass in her hand. "I wanted to know-"

    "I said, be specific." Melinda frowned.

    "Who was Phillip J. Coulson to you?"

    Ohhhhhhhh Myyyyyyy. . . That answer would take all day. Even the simplest of questions could have the most complicated of answers. "A friend." Melinda settled with that answer. Huh. Shorter than expected. Except that she totally left out. . . literally everything.

    "Was he more than a friend?" Benson pushed. That was another question with a complicated answer. But still, not very specific.

    "Phil was my. . . well, If Andrew was. . ." Melinda stuttered, "Phil was the only one who was able to drag me out of every dark hole I threw myself into." Melinda said. 

    "Why were  _you_  the one to watch him die?" Benson asked. Melinda started to wonder why she respected Benson's knowledge when he asked such daring questions.

    " _I. Loved. Him-_ " Melinda said through gritted teeth as she enunciated every word, "-and he loved me."

    "Oh. I am deeply sorry-" Benson tried.

    "Yeah, well, so am I." Melinda started to shut the door. The entirety of her hospice vacation with him will never be enough. Oh what she'd give for just one more day! 

    "This is all just very confusing right now." Melinda added, slamming the door, locking it, and returning to her bed. Sitting once again on the edge, Melinda poured herself another glass. 

    She had lost today. Against the doppelganger and his friends. The freaky woman and the giant man. They had all been there.

    The most interesting thing was; yes, this was all confusing. But most of all, she was furious. How dare this  _thing_ play with her emotions? How dare it come here with Phil Coulson's face and expect to get away with it? This situation made Melinda's fists clench and her blood run both hot and cold at the same time. 

    This was basically her second time widowed. Because of that stupid Ghost Rider, Melinda was a widow twice over. They hadn't needed a wedding or any spoken acknowledgement that Melinda May was Phil Coulson's wife. 

   And this doppelganger was here to tear her whole life down. 

   Pausing the scotch, Melinda glared at the glass before standing and throwing her glass at the wall. It left a spray of Scotch and the glass shattered into a million pieces - like her heart. Usually, she wasn't one to waste her anger on an tantrum, but this was a special case.

   Yes. A  _very_  special case.  

   Falling back against the mattress, Melinda let the alcohol do it's work. Sure, it was incredibly unhealthy, and a major risk to harming herself. But right now, Melinda needed to drop the glass and take a step back. She needed to do something.

    She needed to find the truth.


End file.
